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Lucy had retreated to the empty interrogation room, a file in hand, but she couldn’t focus.
A migraine had struck her as soon as she woke up, and now, every sound felt amplified, every light too intense. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the cold table, seeking relief from the pounding in her temples.
Tim, passing by, froze when he saw her. He hesitated for only a second before opening the door, his protective instincts kicking in as naturally as breathing.
“Lucy, what are you doing in here all by yourself?” he asked, his gruff tone failing to mask the undercurrent of worry.
Lucy lifted her head slowly, her face etched with pain.
“Just a migraine. It’ll pass,” she replied, her voice strained.
Tim crossed his arms, his gaze pinning her in place.
“A migraine did this to you? You don’t look fine. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I don’t need you hovering over me, Tim,” she shot back, irritation flaring.
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, though his concern didn’t waver.
“That’s your problem, Lucy. You think you can handle everything on your own.” He pulled out a chair and sat across from her, his voice softening. “Listen, you don’t have to play the hero with me. If something’s wrong, I want to know.”
Lucy sighed, too weary to argue.
“Fine. You want to know? It feels like flaming needles stabbing into my skull, the light’s killing me, and I can’t think straight. Happy now?”
Tim nodded as though he’d just gotten the confirmation he was waiting for.
“Alright, let’s go. I’m taking you home. You’ve got nothing to prove today.”
She hesitated, her gaze slipping away.
“You know we don’t have that dynamic anymore, right? This—what you’re doing—this isn’t your role anymore.”
Tim shrugged, unfazed.
“My role is making sure you’re okay. It was when we were together, and it still is now.”
Her chest tightened at his words. Breaking up was supposed to make things easier, but Tim was still Tim. Honest, steady, and impossible to shut out. She felt a bittersweet ache rise as she gave a small nod.
“Alright. But if you buy me a coffee on the way, you can call it a date.”
Tim chuckled and stood, offering her a hand.
“Deal.”
They left the interrogation room, and though the weight of their breakup lingered between them, for a brief moment, they were just Tim and Lucy again.
The coffee shop was quiet, save for the soft hum of conversation and the whir of the espresso machine.
Lucy wrapped her hands around the warm cup, savoring the soothing heat against her palms. Each sip dulled the edge of her migraine but sharpened the ache in her chest—a reminder of how their closeness now felt both comforting and painful.
“I shouldn’t be here with you,” she said softly, her gaze fixed on the window.
Tim’s head tilted slightly, his brow furrowing.
“You mean we shouldn’t be spending time together like this?”
She nodded, her eyes tracing the blurred outlines of people outside, avoiding his. The “we” that used to define them was gone, replaced by a fragile attempt at friendship. She hated how dependent she still felt on him, even now.
“We’re not together anymore, Tim. You decided to end things. Why should I let you keep…” She paused, searching for the right words. “Keep being there for me like this?”
Tim’s jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration crossing his face.
“Because I am here for you, Lucy,” he said firmly. “That hasn’t changed.” He leaned forward, his voice lowering. “If you need space, I’ll give it to you. But don’t ask me to ignore you when you’re struggling. I can’t do that.”
Her throat tightened at his words, and for a moment, she couldn’t look at him. Part of her wanted to lean into the warmth he was offering, to let herself believe he could still be her safe place. But she knew how dangerous that hope could be.
Back in his truck, silence filled the space between them like a third passenger. Lucy stared out the window, her thoughts a tangled mess.
When they pulled up in front of her building, Tim killed the engine and glanced at her. Before he could say anything, she blurted out, “Will you… stay with me tonight?” His brows lifted, surprise flickering across his face. He studied her for a moment, his hands resting on the steering wheel, his expression unreadable.
“You don’t want to be alone?”
She nodded, biting her lip.
“I don’t need you to stay, but… I think it would help.”
Tim exhaled slowly, his gaze softening.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “But I’m sleeping on the couch, okay?”
She smiled faintly, the tension in her chest easing.
“Okay.”
The apartment felt too quiet as they walked in, the kind of silence that made every thought louder. Lucy sank onto the couch, the day’s exhaustion catching up with her. Tim sat nearby, his presence steady and grounding.
For a moment, she let her guard down, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. The migraine was still there, but Tim’s presence dulled the sharp edges of her pain.
“Tim,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, “I know it’s complicated, but…”
He cut her off gently.
“It’s not complicated, Lucy. What you’re feeling—that’s complicated. And I can’t fix that.”
Her eyes opened, meeting his. His honesty, as always, was both comforting and infuriating.
“And if I told you I wanted you to stay—not just tonight, but in general?”
Tim’s jaw clenched slightly, his gaze searching hers.
“Then I’d say you’re asking for something that might make everything harder.”
Her heart sank, but she nodded, understanding. He was right—this wasn’t easy, and it wouldn’t be. But in this moment, as he pulled a blanket over her and settled onto the couch, she let herself believe they could figure it out.